


You can't go back home... right?

by Sleepyhollow_101



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mentioned Damian Wayne, Mentioned Dick Grayson, Mentioned Jason Todd, Platonic Relationships, Well kinda mostly, my first fic pls be nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21940972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepyhollow_101/pseuds/Sleepyhollow_101
Summary: After a drug bust gone bad, Tim wakes up in the Batcave for the first time in who knows how long (Tim knows, down to the minute). There, he and Bruce have the talk they've been needing. Can Bruce convince Tim to come back home? Or is their relationship irreparably broken?
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 460





	You can't go back home... right?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [You can't go back home... right?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422699) by [forest_mumu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forest_mumu/pseuds/forest_mumu)



> In this fic, we pretend that Bruce Wayne is slightly less emotionally stunted and is capable of Actual Adult People conversations. Because my headcanon is that Bruce Wayne is a good dad. Shut up, DC comics, don't take this away from me.
> 
> This is my first time writing a fic for this fandom! It's very far outside my normal genre of writing. I hope you enjoy it. I tried to keep it canon-compliant, but I'm not super far in the comics yet and am relying on fanfic knowledge/creative Googling for some of the timeline info. Feel free to correct me. I LOVE CRITICISM AND COMMENTS so please leave them so I can write better!!
> 
> Thank you if you read this, I love you all, Merry Almost Christmas. <3

When Timothy Drake woke up, he did not know where he was.

This was unusual, as Tim had been trained by Batman to be aware of his surroundings at all times. To be so completely disoriented was an unfamiliar (and unwelcome) feeling, and for a Robin, it could spell death.

_But you aren’t Robin anymore, are you?_

The first clear thought to swim to the surface stung, and as such was quickly shoved away. He didn’t have time for this. Just one of so many things he didn’t have time for anymore.

He focused on blinking his eyes open, a task that took more energy than it should. He felt tired – so tired, he was on the verge of dropping back into unconsciousness if he wasn’t careful – and somewhat numb. He was on painkillers, then. Probably. Maybe a sedative, too, although his grogginess could just be the result of sleep deprivation – it was hard to tell, some days.

Eventually, the fuzziness of his vision cleared and he was able to keep his eyes open just long enough to see familiar stainless steel around him, contrasting brightly against the dark, curving walls behind them.

The Batcave. Fantastic.

It had been a long time since Tim had been there, but in many ways, the place was like a time capsule – nothing really changed. It looked the same as the day that Dick… Richard Grayson had betrayed him. Switched him out for a newer model, so to speak.

Not that he was bitter. Tim didn’t do bitter.

But here’s the thing about Tim. He’s smart. He’s always been smart, and that’s what makes him so good at what he does. Because, unlike so many other people, he _learns._ He learns things the first time around, and he does not repeat mistakes.

So, Tim did what he always does. He learned. He learned that he did not mean as much to Richard Grayson as Richard Grayson had meant to him.

Then he went to Hell and back to save Bruce’s life. He fought off the Council of Spiders, made an enemy for life in Ra’s Al Ghul, lost some fairly important viscera in the process, and brought his fath- his _mentor_ out of the time stream where he’d been trapped.

And when Bruce came back, saw that Damian had taken the thing that Tim had fought so hard to get, fought so hard to _honor,_ he accepted it without question.

Like Tim had never been there in the first place.

So, Tim learned again.

To Richard Grayson, to Bruce Wayne, he was and always had been replaceable. And that’s all there was to it.

He didn’t waste time being sad about it. He had too much to do. Taking over Wayne Enterprises to save it from Ra’s clutches had been a tactically sound move, but one for which he found himself ill-prepared. Tim was brilliant and capable and strong, but running a multi-billion-dollar company during the day and playing vigilante at night is tough on _any_ teenager. Even him.

He could do it, of course. There wasn’t another option. Tim doesn’t fail. He can’t. If there’s one thing that Janet and Jack Drake were right about, it’s that failure has never been an option. You have to be useful to be included.

And as Tim stared up at the ceiling, drifting on a haze of powerful drugs, he thought that was where he had gone wrong.

The Bats kept him included. In crime-fighting, that is. He was a necessary component of many of their operations – he was the IT guy, the hacker, the oft-required second set of eyes for particularly troubling cases.

It’s just that… well. He thought that being “included” might – just this once, mind you – mean being included in the _family_ as well.

Tim has been wrong before. It’s never stung quite this badly, though.

But that’s okay. He survived most of his life without a real family. Hell, he was following Batman and Robin around the city at an age where most kids couldn’t tie their own shoes by themselves. He’d had to be self-sufficient, so he learned.

Now, he doesn’t need anybody. He’s made sure of it.

Tim struggled to sit up – he always hated being flat on his back – but was stymied by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

_Alfred._

“While I admire your willpower, Master Timothy, I do believe you’ll be needing a little more rest before you go traipsing around after your father and brothers.”

Bile rose up in Tim’s throat – whether because moving had been more painful than anticipated or due to the casual reminder of family ties he’d once believed he had, who can say? – but he choked it down ruthlessly.

“Alfred,” he croaked, his throat dry. _How long have I been asleep?_ “What happened?”

Alfred lifted a straw to his mouth so he could suck down some blessedly cool water. “You took a rather nasty fall during the drug bust with Master Jason.”

Fuck, that’s right. Jason rarely called for Tim’s help, but the occasion still rose once in a while. Jason was… interesting. While Tim’s relationship with the rest of the Bat Clan had deteriorated considerably, he and Jason had become… not quite friends. But something more than acquaintances.

At least Jason was no longer trying to kill him. That was a bonus. Better than he could have hoped for, really.

“What’s the damage?” asked Tim, shaking himself back into the present. _Focus. You need to pay attention._

“Two cracked ribs, a fractured left arm, and a nasty concussion. I’m rather surprised to see you awake so soon.”

For a moment – for _just_ a moment – Tim cursed Jason in his head. Okay, so he he’d had a bad fall, but it wasn’t _catastrophic._ Jason could have splinted his arm, let him rest at one of his safe houses for a few hours, and then Tim could have gone to the Tower for further treatment. Coming to the cave wasn’t necessary _at all._

Speaking of. “How did I get here?” he asked. Although Jason wasn’t actively trying to murder any of the Bats anymore, he wasn’t exactly dropping by the Cave for tea and cookies either.

“Ah. Master Jason was… concerned when you fell. He had called for Master Bruce and Master Dick for backup when you were incapacitated. They determined it was best to backboard you into the car and bring you back here for treatment. Luckily, your spine is intact, but I dare say you gave everyone quite the fright.”

_Of course._ Tim breathed slowly out of his nose and tried to calm his heartbeat, if only to slow the annoying beeping that had sped up as soon as Bruce and Dick’s names were mentioned.

“How long until I can get out of this bed?” he asked, going for light and conversational but sounding strained even to his own ears.

Alfred frowned at him, as though he’d said something wrong, though Tim couldn’t think of what. “Now that you’re awake, I suppose you can be moved upstairs, though I’d rather keep you down here for easy observation for another day or so. However, I can have your room prepared for you shortly.”

“No, I mean…” Tim cast about for the words. He was usually the epitome of tactful, diplomatic… but his brain felt like fried mush and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d keep his grip on consciousness. “How soon can I go home?”

Alfred was silent for a moment. Tim could sense he’d mis-stepped somehow. “Master Timothy… this is your home.”

Tim had nothing to say to that. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to form the words. His eyelids finally won the battle they’d been waging against his willpower and he slipped back into the formless dark depths of drug-induced sleep.

* * *

The next time he awoke, he was in the guest room.

It was the room he stayed in when he first became Robin, and Bruce and Alfred had discovered he was being left alone for weeks at a time in the empty house next door. It was his refuge for countless illnesses and injuries. It became his safe haven after his father’s… after he officially became an orphan. His.

It wasn’t his anymore.

Everything was the same as he’d left it. The posters on the wall, the books on the bookshelf, even a few knick-knacks he’d all but forgotten still dotted his nightstand.

But it felt foreign to him – like it belonged to someone else. He supposed, in a way, that was true. It belonged to Before Tim Drake. But he was After Tim Drake.

After death, heartbreak, betrayal, being pushed beyond his breaking point time and again.

After Tim Drake was an entirely new person, one he wasn’t sure he liked. He was in good company – not many people liked After Tim Drake. Then again, not many people liked the Before, either.

This time around, he was smart enough not to push himself into a sitting position. He’d graduated from heavy drugs to a milder pain reliever. While he was grateful – he hated how painkillers clogged his brain – he was _not_ enjoying the aches and pains that were making themselves known even as he lay there, immobile.

_I can’t stay here,_ he thought to himself, glancing around the room as best as he could without moving his head too much. If he could just find his cellphone, he could have Kon come and grab him. Get him to the tower before anybody noticed he was gone.

Just as he realized his phone was missing – _probably still down in the Cave_ – the door opened.

He was officially out of time.

Bruce stood there in the doorway, posture tense, expression unreadable. That meant he was anxious about something.

Anxiety is catching, apparently, because Tim felt his heart speed up and a nervous lump begin to form in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t, of course, the sight of Bruce that caused these reactions. It wasn’t seeing his former mentor that made his chest ache and his eyes sting. That couldn’t be it.

_Control yourself!_ Janet’s voice hissed in his brain, causing his temple to throb. She was going to give him a headache. It was decidedly strange, hearing his dead mother’s voice in his head so often. He felt guilty sometimes because he so desperately wanted to root it out, discard it and never, ever hear her sharp criticisms again.

“Tim. How are you feeling?” asked Bruce, his voice quiet as though afraid Tim would spook if he spoke too loudly. He moved into the room to sit in the armchair next to Tim’s bed.

“Okay, I guess,” said Tim. In this case, “okay” meant that every breath made his ribs burn like fire and his arm ache in its cast. But Bruce didn’t need to know that.

Bruce didn’t need to know anything.

They sat in silence – extremely awkward silence – for a few moments. Tim knew Bruce. Could see that Bruce had something to say. Probably something Tim wouldn’t want to hear. But Bruce wasn’t exactly the King of Tactfully Initiating Difficult Conversations, so Tim figured he had a few moments to collect himself before Bruce made his attempt.

“You’ve been gone for a long time, Tim,” Bruce finally said.

That wasn’t what Tim was expecting. He was _expecting_ something more along the lines of “how could you fuck up a simple drug bust that bad” or “you need extra training if you can’t do something this simple.” As such, it took him a moment to form a new script, come up with a response that would work.

This was one of the many reasons he avoided talking to Bruce. He didn’t like having conversations where he couldn’t predict what the other person was going to say. It left him at a disadvantage, prone to say something he didn’t mean to.

“I’ve been in Gotham,” he said, somewhat confused. _Is this about my work at WE?_ “I attend the monthly board meetings. I’m keeping on top of things.”

Bruce shook his head. _He’s disappointed. Again._ A sharp spike of anger rose up through Tim’s chest but he shoved it down. Getting angry wouldn’t solve anything.

But, hey, disappointing Bruce. At least _that_ was familiar territory, right?

“That’s not what I meant, Tim,” said Bruce. He looked tired. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, if that was at all possible. His hair was mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it. Instantly, Tim wanted to solve the problem. That was his job – to solve problems for the Bats, for the Titans, for anyone else who needed it. But to solve the problem, one had to _understand_ the problem. And right now, Tim wasn’t at all sure he understood what was going on. “You’ve been in Gotham, yes, but you haven’t been _here._ With us.

“You haven’t answered phone calls or text. You never come by for dinner. The only time we see you is as Red Robin. I can’t even remember the last time I had a conversation with Tim Drake.”

Tim remembered. Tim remembered it vividly.

It was before Bruce had been sucked into the time stream. And it was about… nothing. Nothing important, anyway. A silly debate over which of the Star Wars movies was the best. The kind of thing they used to talk about for hours on end just because.

And then Bruce was gone. And when he got back, everything was different, and he didn’t seem to care.

Bruce couldn’t remember their last conversation because it simply hadn’t mattered to him. Not like it mattered to Tim.

But Tim didn’t say any of that out loud, of course. Instead, he said, “I’ve been busy with the Titans. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Too much work to come see your family?” Bruce asked softly.

And that… that wasn’t fair. The anger was rushing up again, getting harder and harder to push down. Because of course. _Of course_. The fact that he didn’t even have a family, that they’d _never_ been his family, that it had all been a lie… He had incontrovertible _proof_ that they didn’t care about him, but they still thought he’d buy into their bullshit. They really thought he was that stupid.

Or maybe that if they played pretend, then they wouldn’t have to feel guilty about Tim leaving. They’d wanted him gone all this time, and they didn’t want to have to feel bad about it when it happened.

He wanted to choose his words carefully. He wanted to find the right combination of words to end this interaction as quickly as possible – these days, even being in the same _room_ as Bruce was painful. But that dark, hot anger was beginning to overpower him.

Even before his lips parted, he knew he was about to say something he would regret.

“You aren’t my family.”

* * *

Bruce Wayne had lived a difficult life.

It was a life defined by death, an inescapable shadow that darkened even the brightest summer days. Pain, loss, grief, and loneliness followed. He knew he would never escape them, so he didn’t try. Instead, he welcomed them, and tried not to get too attached to the few good things in his life, the things that were destined to be taken from him in time.

But it was hard. It was _so_ hard. At one point in time, all he had to chase away the shadows – even for a few minutes at a time – was Alfred. And he worried, of course he did – Alfred was getting older every day, and one day he, too, would die. Bruce was going to lose him. But if Bruce could just… commit to only caring about this _one_ living person… he could manage. He could deal with the pain when it came.

But then, Dick happened. And Bruce hadn’t stood a chance against the bright little boy that cartwheeled into his life. He’d never understood the love a parent could feel for a child until that moment. And now he would never be able to forget. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Dick, couldn’t imagine being able to survive something so horrible.

He almost didn’t survive losing Jason. To take in a child, love them so fiercely… only to have them murdered in such a horribly brutal fashion… that changed Bruce permanently. That taught him how truly dangerous it was to love. Especially when his children insisted on fighting crime by his side. They were breakable. They were impermanent. And losing them was unforgivable.

When Tim came along, Bruce was determined. He’d lost Jason, and Dick hadn’t spoken to him in so long that he was sure he’d lost Dick as well. He wasn’t going to allow another child to come into his life and leave him behind, destitute and painfully alive.

Never again.

But Timothy Drake… that child would _not_ take no for an answer. He was more than just clever, he was _brilliant._ He was the most capable child Bruce had ever met. He was quieter than either Dick or Jason, but with a spark of wonder about him that reminded him of the others.

And he was very, _very_ determined. Batman was his hero, and he would save him from the twisting path into darkness by any means possible… even if it meant death for himself.

Bruce was ashamed to admit it, but he had tried to push Tim away. He’d been cruel, unforgivably cruel, when Tim first showed up on his doorstep. Part of it was to keep Tim away – he was certain that Tim would become disillusioned, tired of the abuse, and would stay far, far from him. That way, Tim would be safe.

Part of it was that he hated the way Tim looked at him. Like he was a hero. Batman wasn’t a hero. _Bruce_ wasn’t a hero. He was just a monster that preyed on Gotham’s other monsters. And he didn’t deserve to be looked at the way Tim looked at him.

But it didn’t seem to matter to Tim whether or not Bruce deserved it. Just like it didn’t matter how cruelly Bruce treated him. Tim was always there, taking whatever scraps of attention Bruce was willing to give them.

Just like with Dick and Jason, Bruce never stood a chance.

He loved Tim fiercely, so fiercely he was worried that it would interfere with Tim’s _actual_ parents. Jack and Janet may not have been home much, but they were still Tim’s legal guardians. He still belonged to them and not to Bruce.

It didn’t take long to realize that Tim’s parents were worse than absent. They were downright neglectful. They simply didn’t care about Tim in any way, shape, or form. And if Tim’s quiet acceptance of Bruce’s initial cruelty were any indication, their failings went beyond neglect and straight into abuse.

That sealed it for Bruce. He gathered Tim to him greedily, slowly integrating him into their lives at the Manor. He wanted Tim there with him always. Wanted him as a son, no matter the cost. More than once he considered suing for custody based on the Drake’s negligence, but it turned out to be unnecessary. They didn’t care that Tim had essentially abandoned their house for Bruce’s. They didn’t notice that Tim had found a new family, one that actually loved and cherished him.

Bruce had never felt quite so protective of anyone the way he did for Tim.

Things were… tense when Damian arrived. When Jason came back. He knew how hard both events had been on Tim, how unfair. Bruce struggled to protect Tim from anyone that would do him harm while still trying to reach Jason and Damian.

He wasn’t perfect, and there were bad moments, but things had been getting better. Bruce was _certain_ things had been getting better.

And then…

Then he vanished.

Into the time stream, unsure if anyone would be able to find him, to bring him back to his own time. Gone for so long, and when he came back, everything had changed. Damian had grown into the role of Robin, blossoming under Dick’s mentorship.

The only problem was that Damian _shouldn’t_ be Robin. Tim was Robin. Except that he wasn’t. Not anymore.

It took some time to figure out the nature of that hand-off, how Dick had taken Robin from Tim to save Damian from his own demons. The fight that ensued. And then Tim’s journey to bring Bruce back from the not-quite-dead. Bruce was sure he still didn’t know everything.

But he knew that it had been so, _so_ hard on Tim. All Tim’s life, he’d had to be mature beyond his years. Tim had been left alone, no one to rely on from such a young age. He’d never had a real childhood. Bruce had thought to give him one, perhaps. But Tim had been forced to grow prematurely once again. And now they’d both lost something, something Bruce wasn’t sure he could get back.

When Tim stayed away, Bruce understood. He needed time to heal, time to adjust. Just like Bruce’s other children, Tim needed to discover himself, stretch his wings, fly outside of Bruce’s shadow. And if Bruce privately thought it was much, much too soon… well. Circumstances had taken his ability to express that thought to Tim. It wouldn’t be fair to try to force the boy back under Bruce’s wing, no matter how much Bruce wanted to.

So, Bruce waited and waited and waited. For the day Tim would start coming back to the manor, for answered texts and phone calls, for him to say something, _anything_ to them that didn’t have to do with the mission.

But that day just… hadn’t come.

And now, over a year later, Tim was lying in his old bedroom, glaring up at Bruce with flinty eyes, claiming that he didn’t have a family anymore.

And Bruce…

Bruce felt something in his brain _snap_.

His son. His baby. The one who stepped in and pulled him away from the brink after Jason’s death. The one who saw no personal sacrifice as too great. The one who practically bled compassion for everyone, even criminals that didn’t deserve a second of his attention.

Just another person he was destined to lose.

“How can you say that?” he asked, his voice no louder than a whisper. He was afraid if he spoke any louder, he’d start shouting. A mass of emotions swirled in his chest – anger, fear, heartbreak, heartbreak, heartbreak.

Tim reacted to the accusation exactly how Bruce would have predicted, if he’d had all the facts, if he’d been a little bit calmer. He stiffened and glared, letting his anger show through in a way Bruce had rarely seen before. “You know as well as I do that I’ve never been part of this family. Not really.”

Bruce’s heart was beating wildly in his chest and he was struggling to remain calm. All he could see in his mind’s eye was Tim leaving, walking away, never to return. Of having to live with the fact that he’d failed this child so badly, broken something that couldn’t be replaced or repaired.

Bruce took a few deep breaths, folded his hands together, centered himself. He had to fix this. He had to do it _right now._ There was no room for mistakes. “Tim, you are my son, regardless of how angry you are at me right now.”

Janet Drake’s patented Society Mask dropped down over Tim’s face in an instant. “I’m not angry,” he said calmly, so flawlessly that Bruce almost believed it. “I’m simply not interested in playing these games with you.”

Bruce waited for Tim to continue, but the boy stopped, pressing his lips into a thin line as though to stop anything else from coming out. Bruce didn’t want that – he wanted Tim to tell him what was wrong, no matter how much it stung, because how could Bruce fix it otherwise?

Tim had excellent self-control. It drove Bruce _insane._ It would be far better for Tim to lash out, yell, scream, fight, do _anything_ rather than treat him with cold indifference.

Bruce had to draw Tim out, provoke a reaction somehow. “What games do you think I’m playing?”

Bruce could see Tim calculating his response. Instead of answering the question directly, he chose a different tack. “Being a member of the team doesn’t make me a member of the family. Everyone has made that very obvious. You’ve all been happy enough with that status quo for the last year. I don’t understand why you’re questioning it now.”

Still so cold. Still so matter-of-fact. And Bruce wasn’t sure if he was going to scream or cry or maybe just throw up.

He took a few deep breaths before he found his voice again. “Tim, I wasn’t… that isn’t what this is.”

Eloquent as always. Before he could start again, find that magic combination of words that would help Tim understand the mess in his heart, Tim spoke, “And what is this, exactly?”

That was it, Bruce’s chance to explain everything, to make Tim _see,_ and he jumped on it before it could disappear.

“I’ve been trying to give you space. It… hasn’t been easy, but I thought it would be for the best. When Dick told me that he’d taken Robin from you, God, I was _heartbroken._ I… it’s not that Damian isn’t a good Robin, but you were _my_ Robin and then I came back and you just… weren’t. And I regret that so much. I regret every single day I spent apart from you all. I don’t know everything that happened during that time. Maybe I never will. But I know that it hurt you so deeply and I wasn’t there to stop any of it and that is… it’s unforgivable, Tim.”

Tim stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Getting sucked into the time stream wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have predicted that.”

Bruce shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what was and wasn’t my fault. As your father, it was _my job_ to be there to protect you, to mentor you and watch you grow. I missed that. It’s unfair to you and that rests solely on my head.”

Tim shook his head, then winced a little at the movement. “That’s not… I don’t blame you for that. None of that was your fault. It’s…” he bit his lip, staring at Bruce, unsure as to whether or not he should say what he needed to say. As though he wasn’t sure he could trust Bruce.

“Please tell me, Tim,” Bruce pleaded. He’d beg on his hands and knees if he had to. Tim was that important. “I want to hear what you have to say. No matter what it is.”

Tim hesitated a moment longer, then sighed with resignation. “The time stream wasn’t your fault. I would never hold that against you. And all the things that happened while you were gone… they were awful, yeah. The worst. But you didn’t _do_ any of that. There was _nothing_ you could have done.

“But… I just… I don’t know. I thought that when you came back, you would… make things better. I thought you’d be angry when you found out what Dick did. I thought you’d… not make things the way they were before, I know that isn’t possible. But I thought you’d make it better. I thought you, at least, would care about what happened to me. But you just… didn’t.”

Bruce wondered if his jaw actually dropped or if he had managed to catch himself in time. “Tim, of _course_ I was angry. I was _furious._ Dick had to make some hard choices when I was gone. I know he needed help with Damian and he didn’t have any. But to just take Robin from you like that… believe me, Tim, Dick and I had _words_ about that.”

Tim looked shocked, confused, and a little disbelieving. “Really? Why didn’t you tell me about it?”  
  


Bruce ran a hand through his hair and sighed, misery thick on his tongue as he forced himself to speak. “After you brought me back, you did everything you could to stay away from us. All of us. I didn’t blame you. I thought… I was sure you were angry at me for getting sucked into the time stream, for abandoning you. I thought you needed space. To figure out who you wanted to be, to recover from how painful those months had been for you. I thought if I showed up and demanded you speak to me that I’d just make everything worse. And I didn’t want to make things worse for you, Tim. I didn’t want to _hurt_ you. So I decided I would wait until you were ready to see me again to talk things out with you. No matter how hard it was.”

Tim stared at Bruce for a long few moments, his face totally and utterly blank. Not in the way that Janet Drake would have liked. It looked more like Bruce had caused all his internal wiring to short-circuit, and he simply didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I left because I thought you didn’t want me there,” said Tim, slowly. “You seemed completely… fine with Damian as Robin. When I left, you didn’t come after me. You didn’t try to talk to me about anything. I figured that was it. I wasn’t as important to you as you’ve always been to me. And that’s okay. That’s how it was from the beginning. You didn’t want me from the moment I stepped onto your front porch. You tried to drive me away, and I was just too stubborn to go. That’s all. It doesn’t make sense for me to expect that you’d want me now, just because I’ve stuck around.”

“But I _do_ want you, Tim,” said Bruce, desperation coloring his tone. “You’re so important to me, to this family. I made the wrong call, stepping back and waiting for you to come to me. I should have gone after you from the start, found out _from you_ what had happened and how I could help you. I made such a huge mistake, but Tim…”

Bruce slid from the chair onto the bed, grasping Tim’s good hand in his large, calloused ones. “I love you so, _so_ much. You’re my _son_ , Tim. You’ll always be my son, no matter what happens. I screwed up, I know that. But I want to fix it. I want to make this family whole again, but it won’t ever be whole if you’re not here.”

Tim didn’t seem to be aware that tears were sliding down his cheeks. Bruce lifted a hand to brush them away, cupping his son’s face in his palm, wondering how he could have messed things up so badly once again.

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to let things end this way. He wasn’t going to let Tim slip through his fingers – he was going to bring Tim back to him or he would damn well die trying.

“I know you’re not Robin anymore, Tim. You’re Red Robin and you’ve done an _amazing_ job creating your own persona, running the company, doing things that no teenager should have to do. I want to work with you as Red Robin. I want to work with you as CEO Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. But most importantly, I want to spend time with you and be with you as Tim, _my son._ ”

Bruce wasn’t sure who moved first, but the next thing he knew, he had Tim in his arms, tears leaking out of his eyes to soak his shirt front. Bruce was holding him just about as tight as he could without hurting him, rocking him gently back and forth.

They stayed like that for some time, the Bird and the Bat, together again like they should be. It felt right, a feeling that Bruce had been missing ever since Tim walked out the front door and out of their lives.

Several long minutes later, Tim’s hoarse voice spoke up just enough for Bruce to hear. “I don’t want to see Dick yet.”

Bruce nodded. “That’s okay. You don’t have to talk to him until you’re ready.”

“Damian won’t want me around the manor.”

“Damian and I are going to have a conversation,” said Bruce firmly. “ _Several_ conversations. Though I suspect it won’t be necessary. He has grown to respect you, though I imagine he will have a hard time articulating that. Regardless, he won’t cause you harm. I won’t stand for it. You’re always welcome in my home, Tim. I want this to be your home, too.”

Tim snuggled closer in his arms. “Thanks, dad,” He mumbled.

Bruce just held him closer and smiled.


End file.
